She’s sweet but a psycho
in the way she throws her body like an Eric Prydz video. I will always call on you. Fleshy bounds fall away like the sequins straddling his arms. We cast off mortal limbs for clean minds. Call me crazy, but hiding behind her Roman blinds we build a world of power, a little-bit-mixed, but all together unrestrained. Two bare feet STOMP // SLAP // CLICK the coffee table into being, transmuted into our miniature stage to the world. Unscripted speeches of love, of equality, of neutrality, of economy, projected to a colossal crowd of four. More and more we give and take, moving through the stairs, the carpet, the stilted balcony. Hiding under tables, secrets whisper themselves to us, unleashing power, matching it hour for hour. Our worlds are somewhat tortured like all infallible humankind, but we collide like sugary syrup, bubble-pop-gum sweetness. Each movement of this night our right. We accept, respect, connect, until every molecule of this space is blanketed by our tenderness and although
London is lonely
as a starless night, we are
all psycho-sweetness.
The Wickham Arms, Brockley
6 April 2023
